My first Happy Hour in two years

Ever since 1/16/2022, I dramatically stopped drinking.

The primary reason was the utter shit service I received at BWW in J'town. It was barely crowded that day as Dak blew it against the 49ers by running with no time-outs and a clock counting down. I could not get served at all.

To use an anology, if the waitresses had been working in a whorehouse, I could not have gotten laid with a fistful of hundreds in that bar despite it being at only 80% capacity. Nobody would wait on me.

So, I stopped drinking all together; And I never drink at home.

From my perspective, it was easier just to stop drinking than deal with the chronic disappointment of going out and being completely ignored by BWW staff. It had happened at other places, too. I don't know why I was constantly ignored despite my money being the same shade of green as others. I am mostly quiet and keep to myself, too, so I am at a loss to explain it.

Complaining to the BWW management was absolutely useless. There was never any punishment for the staff after they completely ignored me.

This really had gone on for years with that dump, but that day was the final straw that broke the camel's back. My minor protest may have only stopped a single revenue stream for them, but I'm OK with that.

I still hope they go bankrupt and will celebrate that day if it ever happens.

In my time since, I really have only gone out once or twice a year with a friend for a beer. The only exception has been to go with dad to a pre-game beer before a Bellarmine basketball game.

When I updated my doctor of my dietary change at a checkup, it went something like this:

Me: "I've almost completely stopped drinking. I'm down to about two beers a month, on average."

Doctor: "Two beers a week is great."

Me: "No. Two beers a month, maybe? I only go out for a beer with dad before a Bellarmine basketball game."

Doctor: "Oh!" He suddenly realized the ramifications of what I was saying with how drastically I cut alcohol out.

After a small pause......

Me: "Yeah. Dad's a bad influence." My dad is 80 years old.

On a side note, I did experience one of the funniest stories ever in my life that I have ever experienced before a game last November at a bar, but I cannot share it here.

I know.... I sound like a tease.

If you've heard me tell the story, you know why.

It is "LMFAO, crying tears" funny.

The family members that I told the story to were all in LITERAL tears and cracking up. I don't know that I can write it and achieve the scale of hilarity. It has to be a video media for the laughter to come across.

Hollywood could never write something that was this funny.

***

So today, I wrapped my day up before 4:00 pm EST and I decided I would go out for a beer.

It was happy hour and I think I last went to a happy hour with my friend Daniel a couple years ago. Going to happy hour just has not been a priority the last few years.

I walked in to a place I have eaten at before and had a seat at the bar despite my hating actually sitting at the bar. I really hate people crowded up behind me and I did not pick a great seat in retrospect, but it was the first one open to me.

This exercise became a reminder of how awkward I can be.

The bartender, she was very nice. She was definitely younger than me, but I cannot gauge her age.

"What can I get you, City?"

"City?" Why is she calling me "City?" I wondered.

I looked at my shirt to see if I was wearing a Falls City shirt. Nope. I had on a St. Patrick's Day shirt from Old Chicago. It's an indescribably dark shade of green some Marketing jagoff probably calls "New England Spring Olive."

"I'll, uh, have a Miller Lite."

"Draft or bottle, City?"

Why does she keeps calling me "City?" Is this like a Country Mouse / City Mouse thing?

"Draft," I replied.

"Do you need a menu, City?"

"No I am good."

I spent about 30 seconds overanalyzing why she was calling me "City" as she poured my beer. I could not figure it out. J'town is on the Eastern side of the county, but is still considered a part of Louisville.

She turned back around and put the beer on my coaster.

"Can I ask you a dumb question?" I asked.

"Sure."

"Why do you keep calling me 'City?'"

She was puzzled for just a moment and answered, in a slower, LOUDER voice, "I am calling you 'Sweetie!'"

Well shit. I look like an idiot.

It's a wonder the whole bar did not start laughing. In another universe, this is someone's "meet cute" story, but for me, I call it "Monday."

She was a good bartender though. I've honestly always had good service there. It allowed me to laugh at myself for being half-deaf after seeing about 250 concerts in my life (so many Springsteen shows) plus all the bar shows in-between.

Too much background noise is a terrible thing for me after attending all those concerts.

***

Later, there was a guy (let's call him Whitebeard) leaving that I'd seen for years at the non-sports bar called Old Chicago. I've caught him in here a couple of times over the last five year (I've been here maybe six times ever,) even when I was there to eat lunch and not drink. He and his woman friend / girlfriend (I was told years ago it was not his girlfriend or wife, but that was 8 years ago at OC) were leaving and the conversation went like this:

Guy a couple seats down: "Heading out?"

Whitebeard: "Yeah, I gotta sober up enough to play volleyball tonight."

Guy a couple seats down: "You play volleyball" The astonishment in his voice was hilarious.

Whitebeard: "I ... just kind of stand there in the sand."

It was a sad and funny confession. Reminds me of the softball teams at Symix in the 90s. "I can't play softball well, but I can drink beer."

I do miss those hilarious interactions from having stopped going to happy hours.

Kicking off the Holidays

Yesterday was the Thanksgiving celebration on my mom’s side of the family.   Amongst one of the highlights is there is usually a Kentucky or Louisville game and this year, Louisville went into South Bend and upset Notre Dame in a nail biter.

Also, I killed a hawk. 

Hawks are magnificent creatures that are at the top of their food chain here.  There are no area  predators that eat hawks that come to mind.  

It wasn’t intentional.  I drove over and picked mom up to drive to Greenville, IN, and we were Westbound on the Watterson heading to the Sherman Minton bridge when, out of nowhere, a hawk swooped down on my Honda and hit below my right headlight.

Mom had both hands on her mouth and was suddenly breathing like she was in a panic attack. 

“Huh, huh, huh!!!!”

“Was that a hawk?” I finally asked.   

It’s amazing the detail one can remember in what is a flash in the memory.  I saw his beak and eyes then there was a noticeable thud and it disappeared under my car.

“Oh my God!” she replied.

“I can’t believe he tried to swoop in front of me.”

“We should go back and get it,” she said.  “We’ll give it to Jeanne to cook.”

“Uh, no.”

The rest of the drive to my aunt’s was about why a hawk would do something like that.  We stopped to get ice and there was a large spot on my car where it hit, just under the right headlight.

I’ve heard of people hitting deer and cows, but hawks?  Turns out my uncle once killed an owl as it pancaked into the windshield on him and stared at him with its dead eyes until he stopped and removed it.

I don’t know why Pancake, my name for the hawk, swooped down like that.  Maybe there was a mouse against the concrete medium on my left side?  Maybe it had poor eyesight because it was an older hawk?  Maybe it was suicide by Honda?  If a hawk can spot a mouse from 200 feet in the air, how does it not see a Honda Civic?

I’ve always liked hawks.  We have one at work that flies in his/her territory and is a beautiful golden color.  She buzzed a coworker and I once walking into the building.  As many times as I notice hawks and see them at Cherokee Park or the parks in Central Ohio, I’ve been amazed by how effortlessly they glide and pounce on rodents.

Also, working in IT, I see hawks are our first line of defense against squirrels that eat through cables and disable networks, leaving my company dead in the water twice in my career. 

I looked up Native American folklore on the hawk.

This power animal is often considered as a messenger who brings messages from the spirit world and the unseen.  When the hawk shows up in your life, be sensitive to the messages it may carry and be receptive to your own intuition.  Just like the hawk can see in great detail at great distances, you may be able to perceive what others do not. You may have an affinity with piercing life great mysteries and divination in one form or another.

As far as omens go, I think killing a hawk probably counts as a bad one.

IT Helpdesk - This is Harry Caray

Our job in my department is inherently stressful as the primary goal is helping clinicians who give end of life care for our patients.  Their jobs are even more stressful as they provide care for actively dying patients or even attending deaths every day and we get calls from them while they are in the field.  During the down times when the phones are silent, the IT room can be a very humorous place and is a good place to relieve stress.  

There's only seven of us when we are at capacity and we had maybe four people in there when someone suggested that every time the phone rings, we should answer with a different accent.

I'm only on the phones when we are low on people, but it was fun discussion with everyone throwing out different accents.  Then it dawned on me, forget accents, I should answer the phone as Harry Caray.

Ladies, if you don't know who Harry Caray is, here's Will Ferrell doing a passable imitation.  Watch this first so you can hear his voice in your head.

I watched enough Cubs baseball in the 1980s after we got cable to do a really horrible Harry Caray imitation.

***

"Hey! IT Helpdesk; this is Harry Caray.  How can I help you?"

"Hey! I've reset your password.... It's 'CubswinCubswin' with two capital 'Cs'."

"Huh.  So your saying you can not still connect to your MiFi?  Holy cow!!!!"

"It's the bottom half of my seventh hour today, supporting nurses.  Sing it with me.... one, two, three, four.... Take me out to the ballgame....."

"It might be....  It could be....  Your database is replicating!!!  How about that?"

"Hey!  Please stop booing me.  I'm trying to help you."

Mom's trip to Walmart

I was talking to mom earlier this week on the phone and she told me about a recent trip to Walmart.  My mom loves going to the local Fern Creek Walmart.  She buys quality items at an affordable price and she gets entertainment for free.

She was on her way to my aunt's house and needed three items.  As she went to the express checkout, there was a very large, smelly biker asshole (SBA) with a cart full of things going through the express lane.  If we do a comparison of the tape, my mom is five foot two inches and weighs whatever a thin grandma that size weighs.

This pissed her off to no end.  (As I told this story to my coworkers in IT, they all drew a connection and realized where I got "it" from.  What "it" is must be my sense of fairness in this world.)

My mom glanced up at the sign and down at the guy.  He didn't notice this, so she stepped back, looked up, stepped forward and looked down again.

He still did not notice.

On the third attempt, the SBA did notice.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked her.

The cashier, who already seem scared of the guy stopped for a moment and likely held her breath waiting to see what would happen.  Apparently he was a very scary looking guy.

The sixty-five year old grandmother, in a calm soothing voice, holding back her righteous anger at the SBA responded.

"I don't have a problem, but I think you do.  In addition to not being able to read, you can't count."  

When my mom began to retell this story at my aunt's 30 minutes later, they had minor heart attacks.

"I'm not holding up anyone." he responded.

"You are holding me up," she answered, "I have three items and am stuck behind you.  There's a reason it is called an express lane."

Two of the aunts asked her if she was afraid he would be waiting for her outside.  Mom wasn't worried because there are cameras everywhere and it was daylight.  Still, I think she needs to consider whether to comment or not in the future.  Luckily, in this case, the SBA probably decided that shiving a 65 year-old grandmother would not build his reputation, finished up and left.

My mom then complained to the girl.  Her defense was that it is only a suggestion that the person have fifteen items or less.  They also are not allowed to turn people away.  I hold Walmart management responsible for not enforcing these rules.  

I have equally been frustrated by this over the years.  People who go through those lines with too many items are simply self-absorbed assholes, but what can we do?  

Conversations with Mom

I have recently been contemplating going back to school.  I graduated with my MBA in 2009 and that should be enough, but what I found was that I really enjoyed being back in the academic environment.  My undergrad years were not quite so enjoyable, but grad school was different.  I was older, more mature, and not as much into partying as I was back then.

One of the things I had always considered was being a lawyer.  For example, I hate getting screwed over by insurance companies.  

A couple weeks back I was at my mom's talking about it and my options of law school when I was at her house one Saturday morning.  I was excited with the opportunity although the opportunity may not materialize.

"How fun would that be, me in court?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she said.

"Can't you just hear me now?  'Your honor, permission to treat this jackass as a hostile witness?'"

"I don't think that would be a good idea.  He can fine you or put you in jail."

I had a recent accident where the guy pulled out in front of me.  I had even created my line of questioning before they decided they could not beat my evidence.  

I demonstrated how I would ask my questions for her.

"Are you an idiot?" I would ask the defendant.

After the objection, I would point out that he couldn't be smart for running a two way stop where cross traffic does not stop and in this scenario, I was "cross traffic."

After that objection, I would say, so "You're right, I'm mistaken.  He's a genius."

My mom looked at me, with some concern in her eye.  "You're worrying me," she said.  "I think that might get you sent to jail for contempt.  The judge would not put up with you mocking a court of law."

"I'm not mocking the court, I'm mocking the idiot defendant.  There is a big difference there."  

"Bryon, I don't think you can afford to be a lawyer.  Every appearance will cost you $3000 in fines."

***

Today I stopped off at my mom's and while sitting there, she could not get her phone to work.  I told her to take the battery out when it suddenly rang.

She looked at me and said, "Stop calling me.  Why are you calling me?  I am trying to fix my phone!!!"

I was perplexed as I looked up from the iPad and over at my phone sitting on the table.

"I'm not calling you.  My phone's right there."

The phone kept ringing and she turned so I could see it.  "See?  You're calling me!!"  

The screen said Brandon Jordan.  That's my brother.

"Mom, that's not me.  It says 'Brandon.'  I'm "Bryon.'"

"Oh."

She answered the call, laughing, unable to catch her breath.  

***

My brother, dad and nephew Cole came over for a bit and then left. 

I went to the medicine cabinet to get some ibuprofen.

I initially picked up naproxen and then she walked over and picked up the acetaminophen.  I took two and noticed they were blue.

"Why are these blue?"  I threw them in my mouth and swallowed them without water which made her gag.

Then I read the label and realized what she gave me.  These are "PM."

"Let me see that."  She glances at the label.   "They help you sleep. At least they're not extra strength."

Eight seconds later she reads the front of the bottle.  "Oh, these are extra strength.  You better start driving home before you get tired and need a nap."

"Oh my God.  You drugged me!"

I made it home in 25 minutes and was napping 15 minutes later.  Glad I only took two of them.

It's a Buckeye Thing

I was on the way home, having stopped at my watering hole in J-town, when I decided to stop and harrass the local Little Caesar's Pizza. Going on 3 years now, they have advertised their pizza is "Hot and Ready."

Guess what? They are full of shit. 

Eleven times out of twelve, not that I keep a spreadsheet, I have stopped and asked them if they understand the definition of what "Hot and Ready" means when I walk in and ask for one of these mythical pizzas. I even use air quotes as I ask and then stand there waiting for a response. 

I think I have a better chance of being struck by lightning than actually getting a pizza that is "Hot and Ready" from these brazen liars. 

So I walk back to my car empty handed and head to the next exit and decided to stop at Wendy's. 

I have a terrible history with Wendy's as well. They do not know how to take an order. I ask for a hamburger without mayonnaise and lettuce and inevitably, I get lettuce and/or mayonnaise. It's like they are pushing a lettuce and mayonnaise agenda.   I went nine times in a row during 2012 and they messed it up seven times, not that I keep a spreadsheet. 

I walked around to my table and I notice at another table by the door is a table of three large sized African-American men. I am guessing they are my age. One of them has a sweet, black leather coat with Ohio State across the back.  

It's not uncommon to come across a Buckeye fan down here, but this was a worn jacket and it was clear he had been a long time fan.  I am wearing my scarlet Ohio State jacket as well, but his back is towards me, so there's no plan initially of shouting "O-H" and waiting for an "I-O" response. 

I sat quietly, eating my meal.

The shift manager walked out as I was finishing up. He walked over to clean tables and asked the three men if everything was OK. They responded it was great. 

He walked over to me and saw I also wore my Buckeyes proudly. 

"Hey," he said, "You're both Buckeye fans!" 

Without hesitation, as the three of them then glanced over to me, I said, "What are you saying? That all Buckeye fans know each other?" 

I never heard three people laugh so hard in my life. 

The Wendy's manager seemed uncomfortable. 

I finished my meal and went to the garbage can and threw the trash away. 

"Go Bucks," I said smiling to my friend I never met. 

He looked up smiling and said, "O-H!" 

I responded, "I-O!" and left into the night. 

It's a Buckeye thing.

My Mother, The Felon

It had been an uneventful week.  I spent a lame night in Mason, Ohio, for New Year's Eve and lost two hours of my life watching "Nacho Libre."

Seriously.  How bad is a movie when this is the funniest line?





So my weekend arrives and I ran over to my mom's house after going into work to wrap a couple items up on Saturday morning.

Within two minutes, she walks out with five Christmas presents.  I forgot that I had seen her during the holiday multiple times, but none of those were at the house where I would have my presents.

I shook the first box and guessed a shirt.

As I opened it, I saw it was a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Mom?  What are you doing?  You can't use these for gifts.  That's illegal."

"But they were the perfect size for wrapping gifts."

"Mom.  It's a felony or something."

"What?  Are you gonna turn me in?"

"Oh my God."  It was ridiculous to argue.  The damage was done.

I opened the box and I got socks.  

I open the second box and it is also a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Seriously?" I ask.  "This is a crime or something."

"They don't know I have them."  

Of course my typing this story up makes it visible for them, I guess.

"They will have your face on the wall up there if they catch you."

"They should've taken my photo while I was there because I am not going back."  She was getting defiant.  I see where my niece Avery gets it from.

The gift was a flannel shirt.

"You have to make a promise though," she said.  "For you to have this shirt, you have to throw out one of you old ones."

"No.  I just wear the old ones around the apartment."

"They're gross and ratty," she insisted.  

"I only have one left."

"It has to go."

She thought I still had one in a photo I have on Facebook when my now 16 year old nephew was born.  I got rid of it a year or so ago.

Bryon and Calvin, 11/21/96

That was one of my favorite shirts for years.  I did not so much as throw it out as it seems to have disintegrated.  I think it was officially gone after I vacuumed up the flannel molecules and changed my furnace filter.

I opened up the third gift and once again was another USPS box with another flannel shirt in it.

She slid the fourth box over and told me it was from dad.  It had different dimensions that the other three boxes.

I open it and it's ANOTHER USPS box.

"I knew I should've stopped you with those ramekins.  It was a gateway crime."

I open it up and it was a black sweatshirt and sweatpants.  

"Oh," she said.

"What?"

"That's not what I was expecting.  Your dad asked me, 'Do you think Bryon would wear a white sweat suit?'  I told him, 'No, he take it back because he will say it makes him look like a fucking snowman.'"

The fifth gift came in it's own box, so no crimes were committed in wrapping it.

I did check and according to the USPS website:

The terms of Agreement for the use of United States Postal Service shipping supplies is as follows: I understand that Express Mail service, Priority Mail service, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International packaging is the property of the United States Postal Service and is provided solely for sending Express Mail, Priority Mail, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International. Misuse may be a violation of federal law.

I guess there is some wiggle room on "may be a violation?"  

May be it's not?

The Bryon Apocalypse

Today marks the end of the Mayan calendar and hopefully it marks an end to all the stupid Mayan Apocalypse jokes.  I am sure it is the end of the world for some people.  One website calculated 250,000 – 300,000 die every day.  Hopefully I am not going to be one of them nor is anyone I know.

It is interesting though, wondering how they determined the Mayan’s selected this date.

Perhaps it was some kid’s homework assignment?

Teacher : “I want you to carve a three wall essay that takes the calendar into the future as far as you can.”

As most kids are apt to do, this student did the minimum.

Or what if it was some stoner who halfway through his IT project decided to go smoke a bowl and he strolled down to the Siete/Once (7/11) to get some cheesy poofs only to get run over by a reckless Mayan god trying to put her make up on in the rear view mirror? 

They had cars, right?  I keep reading they were advanced.

It got me thinking of my legacy.  In IT development, the average system life span once in production is maybe three or four years.  Just yesterday I was setting up a table for pay periods and I mulled over how far into the future to take even if the chances of the system being around five years from now is very, very slim.

Who’s to say in the distance future, when archeologists come across my virtual server that holds my SQL database, and they see that my pay period table ends on October 7^th, 2031, that the world doesn't go apeshit over my calendar ending because I thought 500 seemed like a nice round number to represent the number of pay periods to generate in the system, retroactive to August? 

Will it be considered a prophecy?

Honestly, it was arbitrarily chosen and yet, I wonder, will this be known in the future as "The Bryon Apocalypse?" 

It could make me immortal, like a Mayan god, provided that I am wrong. 

***

In retrospect, I think I should add 12 records more so it is 512 records which is a binary number and computers are all about ones and zeroes.  YMMV.

Driving a Stolen Car in Minnesota

I spent last weekend end catching two Springsteen shows in Minnesota.  It is REALLY cold in Minnesota. It's so cold that polar bears won't live here. I know this because I did not see one.

My trip began with my trip to Matt's for a Jucy Lucy as soon as I left the airport.

I was also invited to write the review for the first night for Springsteen's website and thanks to great editing, it came out quite readable.

I even got to meet Joseph again.  I first met him on the Tom Joad tour back in 1996 and had not seen him for 16 years.

The second night of the show was quite amazing.  It started with meeting up with Joseph and hanging out with him for a couple hours while we waited for the wristbands to be given out.  The first wristband entered us in a drawing for the pit.  If we were successful in winning the lottery, we would receive a second wristband and enjoy the show within 70 feet of the stage.

While waiting in line, he had pulled out two songs names on cardboard signs he had been chasing for a long time; "Streets of Fire" and "From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come.)"  As someone else once said, Springsteen fans look at set lists of shows they don't attend and it's similar to being a baseball card collector.  We say "Got it, got it, got it, NEED IT!" as they go down the list.  "Streets of Fire" is the last song off "Darkness on the Edge of Town" that Joseph needs to complete the album.

We were off to the side having secured our pit entrance and he was trying to decide what song to put on the back of the two signs.  I asked him if he had Sharpie's on him to create the sign and he pulled a seven pack out of his pocket.  Springsteen fans are prepared for many roadside emergencies.

"You know what was on the setlist last night that he didn't play?" I asked.

"What?"

"Stolen Car."

Joseph was on his knees already when I shared this and he fell forward with his hands on the floor, head on the floor, fully devastated he did not get to see that song.  Bruce, for some reason, decided he did not want to play it last night and audibled something else.  The devastation was clear.  I felt bad for revealing that to him.

Then it struck me.

"Put 'Stolen Car' on the sign," I suggested.  "It was on there last night.  He might decided to play it as they soundchecked it."

He was slow and deliberate making the sign, even including a car as a graphic in the bottom left corner.  Of the three songs, I thought this would have the best chance being played.

Then I had an even grander idea.  

I would take one sign and be at the back of the pit, Joseph would be at the front of the pit.  During the night, Bruce would come out to the middle stage at the back of the pit four times and hopefully see the sign.  Having the signs separated seemed like it would increase the chances rather than two people next to each other.

I had the sign with "From Small Things" and "Stolen Car" written on either side and got on the wall against the middle stage upon entering the pit.  There were two ladies were to my right and as luck would have it, one of them was from Columbus.  We struck up a conversation as I was wearing my Ohio State sweatshirt and had seventeen years of living there to share stories about the area.

Her friend was quite attractive and it struck me that if I notice her friend, Bruce Springsteen is also much more likely to notice her than he is to notice me.  I needed to get her to hold the sign up for me.  I was trying to figure someway to arrange this without sounding creepy and then the opportunity presented itself.  They asked me if I could help hold their spot while they went to get a drink; they even offered to by me a drink if I held their spot.  I said I would, but rather than a drink, when Bruce is at the middle stage, could you hold the sign up for me?

She agreed.

Mission accomplished, I went and sat in some seats because I had a long night of standing ahead of me.  A little later I met a couple from Minneapolis who sat down in their actual seats next to me.  They had not been to a concert in years, but they were there to see Bruce.  The husband had a great story about them actually sitting next to Bruce a couple years ago at orientation at Boston College.  The wife laughed about how hard it was to "be cool" and not embarrass themselves or Bruce and Patti.

When the lights went down, Bruce came out with a surprise opener of  "I'm a Rocker," and then launched into "Hungry Heart."  As expected, during "Hungry Heart," he was out at the middle stage and I think he saw the sign, because once he got back to the stage, he ran through several audibles including what I believe is only the second live performance of this song with the E Street Band since 1985.

It was magnificent.




Joseph missed out again on "Streets of Fire," getting "Something in the Night" from the same album instead, but I really think "Stolen Car" made up for it.

It turned out Bruce had tossed out most of the opening songs on the original set list and five of the first seven songs were audibles.  I love that randomness and looseness they can have.

I don't know if this is considered a proper sign request that was played or not amongst those in my group, but I am counting it as the plan worked even if he did not pull the sign up.  The end result was the same.  :)

Swinging Cactus

A couple Fridays back, my coworker Melissa and I had gone to lunch at Texas Roadhouse. 

For some reason, during the week, the only day they are open for lunch is Friday, so it is always quite crowded.  As a result, the service tends to be slower.  It did give me time to look around the decor from my seat during occasional lulls in the conversation.

On the ledge was a series of small cacti scattered around to the walkway.

"Do you think those are real cacti?" I asked Melissa.

"They look real."

I studied the one closest to me; it was about 6 feet away.

"I don't know," she replied.

I looked at the needles on the stump and they seemed to be curved downward, as if gravity had taken it's toll on it.  What I recall of a cactus is the needles are straight.  The needles also looked colored, but I am color blind and they were quite small.  I also thought that was risky to have real cacti out where a child could touch it or an elderly person could fall into it.  Or even worse, someone could knock it over the ledge onto someone below.

"I think it's fake."  I determined that the risk for an injury to the general public was too high for it to be real.

"Why not touch it?" she dared me.

Maybe I'll just pick it up and smack the waitress in the side of the face with it."  Our waitress was actually quite pretty.  She was blonde and probably about 27 years old. 

Melissa sat next to me for about 16 months and knew my sense of humor well.  I also knew hers well and it did not surprise me she burst out laughing at the thought.

I also decided I would throw Melissa under the bus just for fun.

The pretty waitress came back to our table.

"I was wondering, are those cacti real?"

"No, they're fake," she answered cheerfully. 

"I was going to say, that would be dangerous."

She took a couple steps over and patted the rubber tips on the plant to show they were not real needles.

"That's a relief."  I pointed to Melissa and said, "She wanted to hit you in the side of the face to see if it was real!"

Melissa  screamed, "What!" while simultaneously laughing.  The waitress burst out laughting as well.

"I never said that," insisted Melissa.  How did she not see me doing this from a mile away?  She sat next to me all those months after all and knows my sense of humor.

The waitress through the laughter assured her, "I, somehow, don't think you were the one that said that."

I sat there afterwards, during the meal, and wondered what would actually enrage someone so much as to pick up a cactus and smack someone with it.

My Mother, The Thief, Part III

It had been a very tough week at work because we had an IT disaster with our production system that forced us onto our disaster recovery [DR] plan.  I was in Saturday morning and afternoon to do some clean up when my coworker, Melissa, also had to stop in to wrap some loose ends from our disaster recovery adventure this week. 

[Side note: EVERYONE, including people with home computers and laptops, should have a disaster recovery plan in place when it comes to EVERYTHING, not just computer technology.]

So we both wrapped up at about 2:00 p.m. and decided to go grab something to eat before she headed home and I went over to my mom's.

Melissa was familiar with the story of my mom and her stealing the condiment dishes from a few weeks ago and as the meal was wrapping up, I noticed I had two of the dipping dishes in front of me.  They had 1000 Island dressing in them.

"If my mom were here," I joked, "She would get a to go box and take these home."

I reached over and grabbed my phone.

"I should take a picture of these and send them to my mom and see if she has these."

I snapped a photo and sent a text.

"Do you already have 2 like these?"

Lunch continued for a few minutes and before I knew it, I received a text back.

"Yes but I could use a back up"

Clearly, she is preparing for some kind of disaster recovery.  That said, Melissa and I both laughed at her response.

A moment later, a second text came through.

"I double dog dare you"

I was double dog dared by my mother, grandmother of five plus three step-grandchildren, to steal the condiment dishes.

Now Melissa was laughing her ass off, also daring me to do it.

I did not steal the dishes. 

When I arrived at her house after lunch she wondered where the dishes were.  I was then chastized by her,"You can't say 'No,' to a 'Double Dog Dare.'"

My Mother, The Thief, Part II

Friday night I had some car trouble. It always sucks having car trouble, but my mom lived only 20 minutes away, so I called her to see if she could help me with her jumper cables.

We could not jump the battery successfully, so while waiting for a tow, we went inside to eat at a local restaurant that I often go to.

She got an individual pizza and I had a sandwich.

Soon thereafter, we got the call the tow truck was 30 minutes out, so we got "To Go" boxes.

"What a shame. You don't have any dipping sauces, so you can't steal the dishes." This is just a couple weeks after the night at the Okolona restaurant when I learned she has a history of taking these particular dishes home.

"I don't know," she says as she picks up the empty plate and puts it on the to go pizza box. "I think this one will fit perfectly in my 'To Go' box."

"That's not funny. Don't you dare!"

Thankfully, she was joking. Her sense of humor is funny.

I wonder if stealing the little dipping dishes is a gateway crime. In a year, will the police will be tasering a 66 year old woman with $100,000 of stolen weapons in the trunk of her Honda Civic?

My Mother, The Thief

Last Friday night, I arranged for a ride from my mom to the airport to get a rental car. I was heading out of town for two Springsteen shows in Philly and I did not want to put the 1600+ miles on my car. So after I get the car, I thought I would take her out to dinner.

We went to a local establishment in Okolona and they were crowded as heck. We ended up right next to the server's station, where the soda machine and the register were. Mom ordered a sampler appetizer for her dinner. It had potato skins, fried cheese wedges and chicken fingers on it. She had also requested BBQ sauce and sour cream. I got the chicken fingers and it tasted great.

We were both unable to finish the meal, so mom asked for a "To Go" box. I let her have my chicken fingers that were left since I was going to leave town for five days.

It was a small box barely able to hold the leftover food. It was made smaller when mom went to put in the actual dishes that had the extra BBQ sauce and sour cream in them.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am out of sour cream at home and I don't have any BBQ sauce either."

"Mom, you can't take their dishes!"

"Oh they won't miss them. Where do you think I got the ones for the kids to use for their ketchup?"

Suddenly I realized how mom accumulated the 7 or 8 dishes in her cabinet! I would later learn they were quite useful for them to dip their veggies into their ranch dressing.

"MOM!" I could not believe this.

The box would not close, so she asked for a second box.

I could NOT believe this, but she's 65 now and has ceased caring anymore about societal constraints.

The second box arrived.

"Put those in the box," she said.

"They're right behind me. They'll see."

"They're not paying attention," she assured me.

They were literally two feet behind me. I carefully, and as quickly as I could, picked them both up and went to put them in the second box with my left hand, leaving my right hand to close the box quickly.

It was at that moment, she let out a loud squeal that sounded like "WHEEEEEEE!" that resulted in my nearly having a heart attack and throwing the two small condiment dishes to the ceiling.

She started laughing having totally flustered me. She did the squeal simply to #$%^ with me.

I shut the lid and it was almost over.

She told me to throw the napkins on top of the plates so the servers would not notice them missing and we walked out casually, well, she did. I was fast paced, thinking the condiment dish police might get me for aiding and abetting a senior citizen.

I can't believe I helped her take those two dishes.

She still had the BBQ sauce when I was back on Tuesday. And then I saw her entire collection. I wonder if this stack of little dishes is a hint that she is wanting more grandkids dipping carrots into ranch dressing now that the others are getting older?

Pelotonia - In Memory of Our Friend Doug

My friend Erin is participating in fund raiser for Pelotonia in memory of our friend Doug. 100% of the proceeds go to the James Cancer Hospital at The Ohio State University.

I wrote the note below about Doug after I heard the news, remembering him. Perhaps next year I will come up and ride in it rather than supporting someone else.

***

From January 25th, 2009

Doug and I were friend in college in Dayton. I met him when I was 18. We spent a lot of time together during a four year period. I last spoke with him around 10 years ago.

Mary sent me pictures of him last night taken 20 years ago. Doug was always one for a picture, with a smile on his face for every single photo; goofing with Ted and Mike, partying with Erin, Tracy and Cindy or just hanging with friends.

He loved music. He listened to everything, but what I will always remember was how big of a Def Leppard fan he was and this was when Hysteria came out sophmore year of college. Every party at his Kettering Dorm room had half of Hysteria played at some point in the music mix. That was a great album and it's what I may always associate with Doug more than anything else.

Doug always had the best parties at Kettering Dorms and at the house on Wyoming. He was the one that got all the cute girls that we worked with in the dining hall to show up at the parties. We went to several concerts together over the years: The Rolling Stones, Boston, Farm Aid, The Grateful Dead, The Who, Henri Lee Summer and a few others I am probably forgetting.

That 1989 Rolling Stones show was a highlight for him. Mike and I waited in line for 38 hours to get those seats as the number 2 and number 3 people in line at UD Arena for our group on a hot summer day and night and day. I think Doug even brought us beer at one point while we were waiting now that I think about it.

Leading up to the show, we told him we were in the 300 level in Riverfront Stadium and didn't actually give him his ticket until we walked to the field level and he asked why we were going onto the field if we were supposed to be up in the nose bleeds.

He about shit himself when we finally got through security to our 8th row, dead center seats. We were so close that the inflatable doll during "Honky Tonk Women" was above AND behind our heads. When the flames shot up during the opening, we felt the heat from the flames!!! Mick and Keith are really ugly up close.

Doug was a huge fan of Living Color and they opened the show for the Stones that night. He was the one standing and singing along with every one of their songs during their opening set.

And when the Stones came out, he went apeshit when they played "Bitch" as the second song of the set. It was his favorite Stones song and the one song he really hoped they would play.

He was a fairly funny guy and on rare occasions he had a very hilarious and raw sense of humor. That was surprising because he would sometimes (often) be very offended by comments that we (mostly I) would make.

One night, junior or senior year, at one of Doug's parties at that house on Wyoming, Erin (and maybe Tracy) were standing, facing Doug, Chris and myself sitting on the couch in the front room at Doug's house. As was typical, there was a lot of alcohol consumed at the party by this time.

Erin was PISSED off about something and reading Doug and Chris the riot act for something they said or did. Doug reached down on the couch and casually grabbed the remote. He hit play on the VCR remote as he made like he was moving the remote out of the way and apparently there was a porno in the VCR. I think the magic elves must have left it as I'm sure good practicing Catholic boys at a Catholic university would never have one of those in their house.

It was quite a graphic movie as the next thing I saw on the TV behind Erin while she was yelling was a humongous erection and I say that NOT because it was a 19 inch TV.

The three of us sat there trying desperately not to crack up as Erin went on and on about whatever she was talking about for the longest two minutes I'll ever remember. I remember looking at Doug and Chris and back at Erin a couple times as they sat there with suspicious grins growing on their faces (and I did not have a poker face either) and Erin is not registering at all what is going on the TV screen behind her.

Finally something clued her in to the fact that all three of us were stiffling laughter (we were bursting at the seams as giggles were escaping by this point) and she turned around and was so disgusted with what was on TV and upset that we were sitting there laughing our asses off seconds later that she stormed out of the room. I think Doug finally collected himself and went after her to calm her down.

The rudeness was completely out of character for Doug yet it was perhaps the funniest thing I ever saw him do.

When I drove by that house last month on my way to a local Dayton bar, just before a UD basketball game, I couldn't even pick Doug's house out of the eight or nine houses on the right despite my spending many, many nights drinking with friends there 20 years ago. Chris had to point it out when we passed it after the game. I even roomed with him for a short period at that house one summer as he and I worked in the dish room handling inventory counts and repairs to the furniture in the UD dining hall. I almost roomed with him and his roommates midway through sophmore year when a roommate moved out of Kettering, but one of his roommates didn't know me so he vetoed Doug's suggestion.

I watched game 7 of the 1992 NL Championship series at his apartment on Irving near Kramer's bar while I did laundry that night. His apartment building had a coin laundry in the building. It was the Braves versus the Pirates. Francisco Cabrera had a hit and Sid Bream, half hobbled from injury, slid across home plate just beating the tag in the 9th inning. It was thrilling to watch the series that year and that was an unbelievable finish to the NLCS that year. Even though we were both Reds fans, we both cheered over the excitement of the play as we literally leapt off the couch.

I watched a few Bengals and Reds games with him at the house. He grew up in Cincinnati and moved back there after I left Dayton in 1993.

The SNLs we watched during the 1988 presidential election were good times. Remember Jon Lovitz's Dukakis imitation ("I can't believe I'm losing to this guy!") opposite Dana Carvey's Bush imitation?

He came to Columbus for the Octoberfest on a surprise trip with Chris, Matt, Ted and Mike to see me and we experienced our infamous dunking booth incident in 1993. I was glad security did not escort us out of the festival. The phrase "Please do not throw the ball at the girl" (said twice over the loud speakers) is a memory from that night that none of us will ever forget.

I can't imagine all the conversations he and I had over the years working in the dish room at Kettering, working banquets, all the parties he threw that I attended. Just every day conversations, long forgotten, not very profound or important.

He was the most decent one of our circle of friends. It's not a coincidence that all my memories and stories of Doug are good memories.

Erin and Mary both contacted me on Friday and let me know he was moved to the Hospice in Hamilton, OH. I only learned in December he had been battling cancer.

And now he is gone at the age of 39. I've spent the past two days thinking of him and sharing some of these stories with friends. I thought it was the best way I could celebrate him and remember him.

CyberBeer - A New Currency Unit

I received a message from my cousin Sam last week. She had encountered an issue on her desktop that had stumped her regarding Excel, so she asked me if I could come out and take a look at it.

I rode out after work and was able to quickly figure out what the issue was. Then she asked, “Can you take a look at my fax? It faxes out just fine, but it won’t receive faxes. It never picks up.” It was a Dell 946 All-in-one fax machine and it was completely foreign to me.

I said I would, though I made sure she knew it was not my area of expertise. To get a printer to work correctly, I usually turn off and on the printer and reboot a computer.

All I knew was what my Uncle Roger told me - they had a fax line installed and it was dedicated for the printer/fax.

I tried calling the number first to make sure it would ring. It did. It also never picked up, just as Sam described. Check.

I found the manually very quickly and made sure the phone cord was plugged into the fax slot and not the phone slot. Check.

It had great instructions in it for identifying how to receive a fax. As I traversed the menu on the fax, it looked nothing like the manual! WTF! My Uncle Roger was there as well, so I had verification I was not crazy. He and I both were stumped.

So, as all IT people do at some point during the day, I pulled up Google. An IT person, contrary to rumor and "The Peele Hypothesis," cannot know every given IT thing. We may have vague thoughts or ideas about certain unfamiliar items. We may have troubleshooting techniques that drive an end-user crazy because they seems so simple (ie. “So is your power on?”) We may know someone across the room who knows the answer without researching it.

My experience is that IT really becomes less about what you know and more about how you can research and find the answer to things you have no knowledge of. I spent 30 minutes searching, changing my search criteria, and trying to find the elusive answer when magically I came across a discussion board where someone else had a similar issue.

A wise man known as PudgyOne had helped that poor lost soul in February 2011 and thanks to him, I looked like a genius when I pulled up the properties, changed a drop down box value and successfully got the fax to pick up after 3 rings. I was so excited, I joined the site just to let him know how much his answered helped me 16 months later.

As I laid down to go to sleep that night, I thought about how cool it would be to buy that guy a beer, but sadly, I don’t know him and I’ll never meet him in person. But wouldn’t it be great to send him a beer though!

As I got drowsy, I created in my mind a new economic currency known as the CyberBeer. The CyberBeer is the equivalent to approximately $4 US and the purpose is to send someone a CyberBeer, particularly on something that he or she wrote up on a public board several months ago, as a token of appreciation. The $4 US unit is derived from the $3.09 Happy hour price for a double of mainstream American beer at my local bar or the equivalent of a pint of real beer. But what’s great is you can send the CyberBeer with a click of the button.

I am not sure it is enough to base an entire economy on. I doubt it would ever catch on. But I like the sentiment.

I think more than anything my mind just wanders too much as I try to sleep. Tonight, I’ll have a cold one and silently toast all those super users who happily offer others support by documenting their findings publically. Every non-IT person reading this (12 of you?) should go tell their IT person how much you appreciate what they do. No matter how frustrated or angry you get with them, they eventually do solve the issue.

And this October 10th, make sure to thank your IT guy and make it National Thank Your IT Guy Day.  It’s on 10/10 – that’s binary (credit to Richard Brown for that.)

Your IT person will get that joke even if you don’t.

I mean, why not? There’s a National Nurses Day, a National Bosses Day, National Secretaries Day ….

Madison's Bike Ride

I drove home through the adjoining neighborhood Friday night and I saw a mom pushing her daughter on a bike down a sidewalk.  My first thought was how soft children were as the little girl had both training wheels and a helmet.

Back in first grade in the mid 1970s, parents were not so overly concerned that kids were forced to wear helmet as the scar remaining over my left eye reflects.  I was rushed to a hospital for an injury I barely recall except for Robin, Babs (yep, that was her name and she was Robin's twin sister,) and others walking me home after I wrecked on Huntsman Trail, in sight of the house.  It was the reason I missed two days of school, I believe, the only two days I missed in first grade because I had a slight concussion as well.

As I drove past the mother and daughter, I thought about ten years ago when I spent Memorial Day weekend in Little Rock, Arkansas.  Aside from the wonderful gift of whooping cough that Calvin gave us and what forever has been known as "The Apocalyptic Water Fight of 2002," I got to take my niece Madison out to ride her bike for one of the first time in her life.

May was so excited, she ran to her room to get her pads.

"Why does she need pads?" I asked aloud.

She really didn't need them as it turned out, except these were Power Rangers pads, so she was excited to use them for the first time on her new bike.  I helped her get arm pads, elbow pads, leg pads and knew pads on.  I expected dome sort of chest armor to go with the helmet.  She was actually more armored than a Power Ranger at this point.

I carried her bike down the driveway as it was very steep and put it on the sidewalk.  The road sloped downward and she climbed on her little bicycle with the training wheels.

"OK," she squealed, "PUSH!"

"Madison, I don't think you understand how a bicycle works.  You have to pedal."

"PUSH!!!"

So I reached down and grabbed the seat she was on and pushed from behind.  I watched as she slowly steered down the sidewalk into the grass.

"PUSH!!!" she order.

"Pedal!" I yelled, walking down.

"PUSH!!!"

I then realized what was happening.  She was too young and not strong enough to pedal.  

The PUSH game was OK going down the hill, but it got old coming back up.  Plus she was not good at steering as I tried to get her back up the street to her house.  Thankfully she was done by the time we got up to the driveway again and ready to go play something else.

Having Friends in IT

My friend Richard came over to watch the semi-final game on Saturday between Kentucky and Louisville. It was a historic game in the rivalry and a very big deal here in Louisville.

He brought his iPad with him wanting to get on the internet. He asked me, “What’s your encryption key to get on your wireless.”

“I have to look it up. It’s like 27 characters long.”

While I logged onto my admin page to look it up, he tried unsuccessfully to jump on an unsecured network from one of my neighbors.

“Why is it so long?” he asked referring to my encryption key.

“Dude. I’m in IT.”

Seriously? Does he want me to have an easier encryption just make his life easier? He seems to be missing the whole point of it.

He was able to log on after successfully typing in the encryption code on his first try.

The game was thrilling. A good time was had.

I changed the encryption key after he left. My encryption key was no longer secure and I am in IT after all.